


didn't even know that love was bigger

by imsosorry



Series: your life's already tangled up in mine [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Insecurity, Jealousy, M/M, Panic Attacks, Smut, TERRIBLE SMUT, Where We Are Tour, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsosorry/pseuds/imsosorry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you know why I shave so often now?" Harry demands. He's talking so fast he's almost nearing normal human speed; Louis can barely keep up. "It's because I'm terrified you're going to kiss me and feel my stubble and panic. I'm afraid every time we make out that you're going to feel my dick through my pants and run off in the opposite direction. I'm changing myself for you, and that's not what relationships are supposed to be about - "</p><p>"When have I <i>ever</i> asked you to change for me?" Louis says. "I don't want you to do that. Christ, Haz, we've been doing this for six days, and I'm sorry if I'm not exactly caught up yet."</p><p>(Sequel to Not Ready to Lose Today. Or, the one where Louis and Harry get together and have to figure out how to get it right.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	didn't even know that love was bigger

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [didn't even know that love was bigger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145096) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)



> I'm so nervous about this! I never planned on writing a sequel to Not Ready to Lose Today, because if I'm honest, that's my favorite story that I've written for this fandom. I didn't want to fuck that up, but then I started getting all of these headcanons (How would Harry and Louis react to suddenly dating? How would Harry feel? How would they tell people????) and I decided I might as well share them.
> 
> SO HERE IT IS! I definitely recommend reading Not Ready to Lose Today first if you haven't already, because otherwise this might make no sense.  
>  
> 
> OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: THIS ISN'T REAL!!! I don't believe ANY of this has happened/will happen. This deals with a lot of canon-compliant material that I am IN NO WAY trying to advocate as actual canon. I'm basically just taking Harry and Louis and projectile vomiting all of my own pretend headcanons all over them. It would be super terrible/invasive/wrong of me to try to pretend like I know ANYTHING about the lives of two popstars I'll never meet and I'm not going to do that. 
> 
> OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER PT 2: Though I fully acknowledge this isn't real, I wanted to make it as realistic as possible, and for that reason it deals with a lot of NOT FUN things, like insecurity, talk of being with other people, jealousy, and even one instance of a panic attack. Last time I did that, some people were like "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT, YOU'RE A MONSTER, EVERYTHING SHOULD BE PERFECT 100% OF THE TIME" and while I agree with the sentiment, I am a monster and this is fiction, so keep that in mind.
> 
> (Title is from "The Calculation" by Regina Spektor)

When Louis wakes up, it's to a pair of hesitant green eyes watching him, and that's - new.

"Creepy," he mumbles, turning over so he's more fully on his side, rubbing his cheek against the silk pillow. Harry doesn't reply, just keeps staring at him, until Louis props himself up on one elbow and offers him a small smile.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," Harry says, his already-croaky morning voice cracking over the word. He smiles back, but it's not a real smile, all shaky and uncertain and nervous. If Louis were braver, he thinks he'd roll over, pin Harry beneath him, and snog him senseless, until there was no room for hesitancy. But Louis isn't all that brave, actually, and he feels just as uncertain and nervous as Harry looks.

They hadn't done anything more than light, giggly snogging after their confessions the previous night, still high on the This-Is-Actually-Happening of it all. At some point, they'd taken it to Harry's bed, fully clothed and exhausted, and dozed off. Louis remembers internally panicking on how to sleep - Is it too soon to cuddle? What is the appropriate amount of time, post-first-kiss, to start spooning? In the end, they'd fallen asleep facing each other, holding hands but not quite touching anywhere else. Sometime in the night they must have drifted closer, because now Louis' got one arm wrapped over Harry's chest, and their legs are tangled together under the sheets.

"Nice bed head," Louis comments lightly. He brushes a stray curl off Harry's forehead, tucking it over his ear. It's something he's done countless times to all of the boys, but here, like this, in bed and only inches apart, it is so shockingly intimate that Harry's eyes drift shut and a shudder ripples through his spine. Louis can feel it where his hands rest, and he tries to run a soothing hand down Harry's back, but he's shaky, too.

"S'weird," Harry says after a while. He pops open one eye to look at Louis. "Kind of feels like I'm dreaming, you know?"

This time, Louis does roll over, so that his hands are planted firmly on the bed and he's hovering over Harry, grinning. "That was so unbelievably cheesy. I'm going to give you so much shit for that."

"Heeey," Harry weakly defends himself, but he's laughing breathlessly.

Louis lowers himself like he's doing a push-up, only this time he plants his mouth firmly on Harry's, light and quick and the start of something really solid. Harry's eyes drift close and he lets out a little squeak, and for all that Louis' has undergone two major, life-changing realizations within the past twenty-four hours, he feels oddly at peace. Like he could stay in this bed with this boy for a long, long time.

+

It's been four days and they still haven't told anyone.

They're quite busy, with two back-to-back Paris shows and a string of French radio interviews, so for the first few days it's timing that gets in the way. Harry and Louis barely have time to talk themselves, let alone hash out a plan for telling the lads what's happened between them.

But Louis knows that's not the main reason that they're staying mum about it. He doesn't even know where he'd begin to tell the story; he hasn't even really worked it all for himself yet. Quite frankly, he has no idea how he'd answer the questions that the boys would inevitably ask: How long has Louis felt this way? Did he always know he could be attracted to men, too? What _are_ Harry and Louis, officially?

Louis doesn't fucking _know_ , and despite the fact that he's finally come to terms with his complex feelings for Harry, the crushing weight of his confusion from the past months hasn't gone away overnight like he'd half-expected it to.

They're not a couple - or, at least, they've never addressed the topic directly. They spend the next four nights together at the hotel, but don't actually go very far physically. It's Harry, surprisingly, who seems more hesitant, flinching away every time Louis even so much as brushes a hand over his pants. For the most part, they just kiss and joke around, and rarely get into conversations deeper than, "Hey, you want to order room service?"

It doesn't bother Louis that much - he can certainly appreciate the merits of patience at this point - but it does confuse him, a bit.

On their last night in Paris, Louis is watching TV in bed when there's a knock on his door. He assumes it's Harry, who had been watching Lux for Lou while she went to the spa, so he swings it open with a huge smile. It dims a little when he sees Niall standing there expectantly.

"Expecting someone, mate?" Niall asks, eyebrows high, like he definitely knows something.

"Nah," Louis lies easily, standing back and letting Niall into the room. Niall flops onto his bed, takes out his phone and starts texting, clearly indicating he means to stay for a while. Louis wonders if it'd be weird to text Harry not to come over tonight, ignoring the disappointed pang he feels at the thought.

"Think Liam wants to go clubbing," Niall says after a while.

"Of course he does," Louis says dryly.

"So I'm here to convince you, and Zayn's trying to convince Hazza," Niall continues. "We could have, like, a proper lads night. When's the last time we did that?"

It's been ages. Truthfully, the five of them had usually only gone clubbing when most of them were single; having four wingmen and a pack of bodyguards had generally worked in their favor. During the first tour, and some of the second, it wasn't unusual for Zayn, Liam, and Niall to invite girls back to their room under the radar. Louis had had a very brief window of partying, after Hannah and before Eleanor, when he'd tagged along. And he's not quite sure about Harry - if the Harry did pull on those nights out, then he was always awfully discreet about it.

Louis doesn't want to go out now, though; too much is still up-in-the-air between he and Harry. The boys still think they're both single, and they might try to set them up with somebody and - they're not. Single.

Louis is pretty sure.

"Maybe," Louis says noncommittally.

"Are you, like...depressed, or something?" Niall asks. He gives him an appraising look, and Louis feels colour rising in his cheeks.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because you're holed up in your room every second we're not doing something," Niall says. "So...unless you've got some Parisian lover nobody knows about..."

"Jesus, I haven't got a Parisian lover," Louis laughs.

"You sure?" Niall looks pointedly across the room, at a chair that has a pile of Harry's worn clothes on top of it, and a pair of his boots neatly placed on the floor in front of it. When he looks back at Louis, with his usual confusing mix of lightness and intensity, all Louis can think is, _He knows he knows he knows_.

"Niall - " Louis begins, fully planning on making up an excuse or outright denying it or perhaps just letting it all out and having a bit of a cry.

Before he can decide, though, Niall heaves up off the bed, and pulls Louis in by the shoulders for a bone-crushing hug. Niall's not much bigger than Louis, but his biceps are strong enough that the hug hurts, in a good, reassuring way. It makes Louis feel less like the floor is going to collapse beneath him at any moment.

"Maybe don't think so much all the time," Niall suggests as he pulls away, patting Louis on the shoulder.

Louis' not exactly sure what he's supposed to do with that advice in this situation, but he appreciates the effort anyway.

+

They do end up going clubbing, if only because Liam told Paul and the rest of the team that the "whole band" was going, so back-up security was called in, and nobody wanted to be the arsehole that flaked out. Louis gets ready in his room alone, unsure where Harry's at and unable to get the anxious feeling out of his chest.

He pairs a tight grey tee with a pair of tight black trousers and his Vans. It's casual, but he knows he looks hot, and he's hyper-aware of the fact that he's dressing to impress someone for the first time in a long time. He feels like a silly thirteen-year-old with a helpless crush on the most popular boy in school.

At nearly eleven o'clock at night, Paul guides the boys toward the hotel's back exit, through the kitchens. An inconspicuous black car is waiting for them, no paps or fans in sight. They all pile in quickly - Niall, Zayn, and Liam seem to be buzzing with anticipation, while Louis and Harry keep darting glances at each other, trying to keep the dread they're feeling off of their faces.

"This is gonna be sick, lads," Niall declares. He reaches into the mini-fridge in the back seat of the car and takes out a bottle of champagne. "Pregame?"

"We've got five guards tonight, boys." Paul turns around in the passenger seat to level them all with a stern glare. "One for each of you. If any of you tries to sneak off, I'll personally chop your dick off."

"Thanks, Paul!" Louis says faux-cheerily. He accepts a flute of champagne from Niall and downs it with a grimace before realizing the other four boys all have their glasses expectantly held up for a toast. The corners of Harry's mouth twitch.

"Well, anyway. To a great night!" Niall says.

Five glasses clink, one empty, and it shouldn't be an omen, but it kind of is.

+

It's not a great night.

The club they go to is dimly lit and sweltering, but that's not unusual. It's a nice club in that it's fairly exclusive, and (no doubt at the hands of their management) no cell phones are allowed inside. Immediately upon entering through the back, the boys situate themselves at a table that's somewhat secluded from the bar and the dance floor. It's useless, though; everyone there is already staring at them, no doubt tipped at the door that they'd be there tonight.

Harry and Niall offer to go get drinks, while Louis, Zayn, and Liam stay back.

"There's something about French girls, isn't there?" Liam says thoughtfully. He's openly staring at a gorgeous, dark-haired girl on the dance floor just a few metres away from them. Zayn makes a noise of agreement without looking up from his phone.

Louis wouldn't know much about French girls, since his eyes are currently glued to where Harry is blatantly flirting with a bartender. He watches as Harry shakes out his hair and grins bashfully, leaning in to say something directly into the guy's ear - even Niall seems a little uncomfortable, bouncing from foot to foot next to him. The bartender, who looks like he could be in his late-thirties, whispers something back. Angrily, Louis notes that Harry's dressed like he means to pick up - black see-through jumper, tight black pants, bright-coloured boots. His hair is neatly arranged in a red headscarf, his curls peeking out just so, unmistakably Lou's handiwork. He's easily the hottest guy in the club, and it's making Louis twitchy.

"Harry should be more subtle," Zayn says with a nudge to Louis' side.

"Yeah," Louis agrees darkly. He looks away from the bar and tries to focus on the dance floor, because he hates feeling pissed off when he's got no reason to be.

When Harry and Niall finally do arrive back at the table, their hands full of pints, they're both wearing shit-eating grins.

"Hazza here got us free pints!" Niall announces.

"Don't think the bartender knew who we were. Didn't speak much English," Harry admits. He's balancing six drinks in his stupid-large hands.

Louis is not drunk enough for this.

"Got you a Stella," Harry says quietly, sitting beside Louis and sliding the bottle over.

"Great," Louis says flatly. He doesn't make eye contact as he takes a huge slug of it. Another time, he might think it sweet that Harry had gone out of his way to get Louis' beer of choice while getting the rest of the boys standard beer on tap, but not tonight.

"Wanna dance?" Niall, perpetual mood-lightener, cuts in.

" _Yes_ ," Louis says emphatically. "Let's do that, Nialler."

He yanks the blonde boy onto the dance floor a little too forcefully, knowing full well how obvious he's being. He can feel Harry's eyes on him even as he distances himself from the table, but it's so, so easy to get lost on the dance floor, to let the music and the sweaty bodies envelop him completely. He's not Liam - he doesn't go clubbing at every available opportunity - but right now he understands the draw of it, the anonymity.

Of course, he's not really anonymous - half the dancers on the floor are already trying to shove their way towards them, but he honestly can't be arsed to care. He dances with all of them, revels in their attention, and thinks, _I'm wanted, too._

He spends the rest of the night getting progressively drunker, dancing progressively dirtier, and refusing to talk to Harry. At one point, he's situated behind a small, curvy girl, and just as she reaches backwards to wrap her arm around his neck, he locks eyes with Harry from across the room. He's just sitting at their table, nursing a drink, expression carefully blank. Louis extracts himself from the girl and moves on, because he might be pissed at Harry, but he's not an absolute prick. A small, vicious part of him wants to make Harry jealous, wants to snog some pretty girl just because he can, but the larger, more rational part of him doesn't want to hurt Harry. He's spent the last four years doing that, apparently, and he's pretty sick of it.

But he doesn't stop dancing, because once he's started, he realises he's going to have to face Harry as soon as he stops. He's tipsy as all hell, and he's somehow made himself into the bad guy here. Harry had flirted with one bartender, and then Louis had gone out and danced with dozens of girls in some twisted kind of revenge. He doesn't have a leg to stand on.

What's worse is that Harry isn't even attempting to pretend like he's not watching him. Every time Louis risks a glance, they make eye contact, and Harry doesn't look pissed off or jealous, just strangely...resigned. And Louis would never admit it, but he'd prefer Harry jealously staking his claim on the dance floor to this.

"Think you've had enough, Lou?" Niall yells into his ear as he accepts another shot of something from the bar. He throws it down his throat - vodka, definitely vodka - and shouts back, "Never enough, mate!"

He's drunk before he realises it; only really notices as he's stumbling into the loo and has to steady himself on the arm of the security guard, James, accompanying him. "Can piss on my own, you know," he slurs, undermining his point as he allows James to carry half of his weight.

"Take a piss, and then we're heading out," James says.

Louis has to use a stall, since he's too shaky on his feet to stand up. He puts his head between his knees after he's done, taking a few deep breaths in a vain attempt to ground himself.

He's gone and cocked it all up before it's even started, hasn't he?

It's after three by the time security can round up all of the boys and shove them into the waiting van. Liam won't shut up about some girl whose number he scored, Zayn is texting, Niall is drunkenly resting his head in Zayn's lap, and Harry is silent. He looks scarily sober.

"Was fun," Niall mumbles. "Lotsa...fun."

"Sure, Niall," Zayn agrees. He pats his blonde head gently. "Go to sleep now."

Back at the hotel, Niall has to be carried to his room, while the rest of them are deemed decent enough to make the trip on their own. They use the service lift in the kitchens so as to avoid a drunken fan encounter, and the ride seems to last ages - in the fluorescent light of the lift cab, Louis feels twice as sober. He feels like he's two seconds from blowing chunks for other reasons.

On the thirty-third floor, Harry makes to turn right, down the hall to his own room instead of straight ahead to Louis' room, where he's slept since their second night together. On instinct, Louis reaches out and grabs him by the wrist.

"No, wait," he says, using a decent amount of force to yank him back. "Wait, no, no, don't, please."

"You're drunk," Harry says flatly.

Louis waits until the other boys have filtered off to their own rooms, throwing curious glances over their shoulders, before he starts pleading.

"Fuck, Harry, m'sorry," he says, and it's not enough but it's all he has.

Harry doesn't reply, but he does lead Louis to his room, so maybe not all is lost. Once inside, he makes a beeline for the bathroom while Louis uncoordinatedly tries to get out of his shoes. Harry returns moments later with a glass of water and a paracetamol tablet, which he hands over to Louis wordlessly.

"I fucked up," Louis says after he's taken the medicine. He can still feel the lump where the pills had gone down his throat. "You have to...have to forgive me, though. Was mad."

"Yeah?" If Louis were more sober, he would probably clue in to the fact that Harry is humoring him now.

"Didn't like you flirting with that bartender," Louis admits. "That was not nice."

"Okay, Lou," Harry says. "Go to bed now."

"Will you stay?" Louis asks quietly. "Stay, please."

"Yeah, okay, Louis," Harry says, and it sounds nothing like forgiveness and an awful lot like regret.

+

There's nothing peaceful about the following morning. It's their last morning in Paris and they're set to board the buses by eight, so there's not exactly ample time to nurse a hangover or have long-winded discussions about the nature of a new relationship, which are both things that Louis needs to do.

Harry's up and packed before Louis even stirs in bed, and for a brief moment Louis thinks he's left the room entirely, until he hears a tiny commotion in the bathroom. He shuffles out of bed and timidly pokes his head into the en-suite, where Harry is leaned close to the mirror, shaving his face.

"Cut myself," he says, the only acknowledgement that he's aware of Louis' presence.

"Don't know why you shave so often," Louis says. It's light and teasing but he feels hysterical as he does it, because he doesn't know if Harry's mad or if they've made a tacit agreement to forget about last night. "You still can't grow facial hair for shit."

Harry gives him an unreadable look and goes back to shaving. "I'm going to ride Bus Two, I think. Got to call my mom and Gems anyway."

"Um," Louis says. "Okay. I could ride Bus Two, as well? If you wanted?"

"It's fine, Lou," Harry says. "I'll probably just make some calls and then go to bed."

Louis watches him for a while after in the mirror, trying to decipher what he's feeling from his expression and his tone. But Harry isn't an open-book sixteen-year-old with a raging crush on Louis anymore; he's a twenty-year-old man who's had experiences of his own, who's travelled the world and discovered what he likes and what he wants out of life. Louis has no idea how he factors into the equation of Harry's life - if he's even part of it.

"Okay," he says, not wanting to push the issue and start a fight.

He realizes that although he's come to terms with loving Harry, he's got no idea how to do it right.

+

The bus ride to Amsterdam is brutal. Zayn and Liam are passing a bowl around, but Louis's not in the mood, so he just ends up with a searing headache and burning eyes. They play Fifa and Louis loses, which is probably the biggest tangible evidence to how much this standoff with Harry is affecting him.

Liam's oblivious, but Zayn clearly knows something's going on. He keeps meeting Louis' eyes and then tilting his head to the back of the bus in a "Wanna talk?" gesture. Louis just shakes his head and looks pointedly away. Of all the things that suck about fighting with Harry, one of the worst is that Louis can't even _tell_ anyone.

He wonders what Harry's got to talk to Anne and Gemma about. Wonders if they knew about his feelings way back when, and if they've resented Louis ever since. He sort of doubts it - they've never been anything less than warm to Louis, even things with Harry got weird - but they're such a close-knit and protective family that it's hard to believe they wouldn't hold a grudge.

Thinking about Harry's family makes him think of his own, which just makes him feel worse. If this thing with Harry continues, Louis is going to have to tell his mother. His sisters. All of the people in his life who had adamantly defended Harry and Louis' friendship and Louis and Eleanor's relationship. Louis is going to have to find an eloquent way of basically saying, _So. Change of plans._

He doesn't want to hear the inevitable _I told you so's_ from the people who'd guessed it all along. He doesn't want to explain that he'd taken this long to clue in to something that had been obvious to everyone else. He doesn't _want_ to face the consequences of being a gay boy band member.

But most of all, he doesn't want to lose Harry again, so that's what he forces himself to think about as he glares out the windows.

+

Bus Two almost always arrives at the hotels before Bus One, so when Louis picks up his room key he has to swallow his pride and ask Paul for Harry's room number.

Paul raises his eyebrows but tells him, most likely deciding getting involved in their business will only mean more stress for him.

For some reason, Harry's on the floor below his, which means that Louis has to make an active decision to press the "19" button on the elevator instead of the "20." This is a huge step, and results in him having a small breakdown while he stares at the number pad. Eventually, he does it. He's a hero. 

Harry doesn't answer on the first knock or the second. Louis tries to convey the depth of his apology into the third knock, and when the door swings open he briefly thinks that it worked, but then he sees that Harry's soaking wet and got a towel wrapped around his waist. He holds open the door and Louis walks in.

He's not - Louis knows by now that he's attracted to Harry. He's always known that on some level. Back in the X-Factor days, he got enough awkward and ill-timed boners to know that he's not exactly immune to Harry's presence. But it had always been so easy to repress that, to put it to the back of his mind and think, _Well, of course, it's Harry Styles._

It's harder, now, because Louis can touch but he also _can't_. They're fighting, and anyway, they haven't really done that. Harry, perpetually nude and shameless, hasn't even taken his top off in front of Louis since they'd kissed for the first time.

"Um," Louis says. He knows he's staring at Harry's chest, but even the embarrassment of knowing that Harry knows he's looking isn't enough to get him to _stop_.

"I'll just - " Harry says, jerking his head to the bathroom and fleeing.

While he's gone, Louis sits on the edge of the bed and imagines a world where he'd said, _No. Don't._ Where he'd unraveled the towel so that Harry was completely nude and dripping wet. Where Louis kissed every inch of his skin. Where everything wasn't so fucking complicated and he didn't have a constant headache and Harry didn't look at him like he was disappointed all the time.

But that's not the world they live in. Louis's stuck here, in this semi-dystopian slightly-romantic-but-mostly-depressing reality.

When Harry comes back, he's got on a pair of skinny jeans and a sweater. With a gulp, Louis realizes this isn't going to be easy. If there was a chance they were going to make up and fall in to bed, surely Harry would have worn sweats. These are Break-Up Jeans.

Harry lingers by the bathroom door, darting glances between Louis and his feet, like he can't decide which is more worthy of his attention. It's very cute and very dumb. Until he opens his mouth to say, "I can't do this."

Louis feels all of the colour drain out of his face, because he'd been expecting a lot of things, but he hadn't expected _that_. Harry is never direct about anything; he can spend ages deciding what he wants to eat at a restaurant before giving a decisive answer. Apparently, though, breaking things off with Louis is easier than choosing between salmon and steak.

"What?" he says. His voice is small. He feels small.

"I can't," Harry says, bringing a hand up to cover his face. He wipes his eyes harshly, leaving them red and watery when he next looks at Louis. "I can't, Louis, it's not - good. For me. It's not healthy."

" _What_?" Louis demands. "What have I done?"

"It's not you," Harry says. Louis takes a sharp inhale, because _no way in hell is he going to_ \- "It's me," he finishes.

"I'm _sorry_ about what happened at the club, okay, I fucked up, I know I did, but - "

"It's not about the club, Lou," Harry says. "I mean, that didn't help. But it's - it's about how I feel. It's _too much_. I love you too much."

In the grand scheme of things, it's one of the better lines to be fed when getting your heart broken. But it makes Louis' spine stiffen and his ears start to ring. Harry doesn't get to freeze him out of his life again; that _hurt_.

"But I love you too," Louis says. He's trying not to snap, because that's not going to make Harry any less inclined to leave him. "I don't - what's the problem? I know that it's new and we still have shit to figure out, but isn't that an okay start?"

"Louis, last time you rejected me _I moved across the world_ ," Harry says. "I left my family and all of my friends for months. I fucked off to LA and fucked any guy that would have me. I basically went off the deep-end."

Louis does not want to hear this. He doesn't want to hear about how his callous disregard for Harry's feelings drove him away from his home and into some other guys _beds_. It makes his vision blurry with some combination of rage and jealousy and tears. He's furious, at himself and at Harry, who was just as complicit in letting all of this happen as he was.

"You can't put that on me," Louis says. He feels the hot trail of a tear down his cheek and wipes it away with a shaky hand. "That isn't - if I'd had _known_ , okay, I wouldn't have - "

"That's not the point I was trying to make," Harry interrupts. "I just meant, like. If that's what I did last time, when we weren't even together, what am I going to do _this_ time?"

"What?" Louis demands. "What does that even mean?"

He's given up the pretense of calmness, and is off the bed and in Harry's face. His aggressiveness is offset by the fact that Harry's several inches taller than he is now, and he has to aim his glare upward.

"I _mean_ , what am I going to do when you have your big gay freak out and run back to Eleanor or some other girl? When you decide I'm not worth all this?"

"So you're breaking up with me because you think I might _hypothetically_ leave you?" Louis snaps.

"Do you know why I shave so much now?" Harry demands. He's talking so fast he's almost nearing normal human speed; Louis can barely keep up. "It's because I'm terrified you're going to kiss me and feel my stubble and panic. I'm afraid every time we make out that you're going to feel my dick through my pants and run off in the opposite direction. I'm changing myself for you, and that's not what relationships are supposed to be about - "

"When have I _ever_ asked you to change for me?" Louis says. "I don't want you to do that. Christ, Haz, we've been doing this for six days, and I'm sorry if I'm not exactly caught up yet."

"It's not - "

"You haven't given me a _chance_ ," Louis says. "I'm sorry that I'm not doing enough to reassure you of my sexuality, but as you seem to be too selfish to notice, I'm kind of going through some shit myself."

Harry seems to visibly deflate at that. It's probably one of the first time he's ever been called selfish to his face; Louis' sure he doesn't like it.

"I didn't," he starts, taking a deep breath, "I didn't think of it that way. I didn't think about what you've - about what you're going through."

"Well," Louis says. "Maybe you should."

Harry frowns and crosses the room, taking Louis' previous spot on the bed. He pats the comforter next to him invitingly, but Louis is hesitant as he joins him. For a long time, they just sit there in silence, stewing over everything they've just said and what it means. It's the worst kind of end to a fight, one where nobody is wrong and nobody is right and there's no clear resolution.

Louis doesn't know how he's supposed to treat Harry. He's never been with a boy before; he's never even really wanted to. He'd just sort of figured that it would be the same as being with a girl, and it _is_ , except now Harry's got all of these insecurities that Louis has got no idea what to do with.

"I don't want to stop doing this," Harry finally says, softly breaking the silence. "'M just. You know. Scared."

"I'm terrified," Louis says. "But I don't want to stop, either."

"Okay," Harry says.

"Okay," Louis agrees.

There's another brief silence, and then Louis can't help himself.

"You know, I don't think you've got enough stubble to induce a 'big gay freak out,'" he says. "Not that I'd have one, even if you did, but. Don't flatter yourself."

Harry lets out his best kind of laugh - a soft cackle that sounds like it's burst out of him without his permission - and leans his head on Louis' shoulder. They stay like that for a long time.

+

The high of performing at a sold-out stadium lasts significantly longer than the high of performing at arenas, Louis thinks.

On their last tours, the adrenaline rush never lasted that long. The boys would jump around backstage and get into all sorts of trouble right after a show, before inevitably passing out on the tour bus or in a hotel bed an hour or so later. Now, though, the adrenaline pumps through Louis' veins for _hours_ , like he can't get the energy from the stadium out of him. It makes him feel antsy and uncomfortable, like he wants to crawl out of his skin.

Harry seems to notice, after the first Amsterdam show. He keeps watching him in the car back to the hotel like he can tell Louis's all keyed up. Harry's own legs are bouncing and he's biting down on his knuckle like he does when he's frustrated or stressed. He opens his phone and types out a quick text, and Louis is just wondering who he'd be texting when his own phone buzzes. He raises an eyebrow and, after making sure none of the other boys are watching him, opens it discreetly.

He immediately wishes he hadn't.

_Wanna suck you tonight, that ok???_

Louis' display of violently shutting off his phone and jerkily shoving it into his pocket will have to be answer enough.

Back at the hotel, Louis doesn't even pretend to be subtle about rushing back to the room. He says a quick goodbye to the other boys, who are loitering around the private entrance talking to some of their team, before yanking subtly Harry into the building and shoving them both into an empty lift.

"So obvious, Lou," Harry teases, but then he's leaning down to suck on Louis' neck, pushing him back into the lift's wall. Louis whimpers, actually whimpers, and bares more of his neck for Harry to get at; he's not sucking hard enough to leave a mark, he's basically _making out_ with Louis' neck, and Louis is so, so turned on. "M'gonna suck you really good. I promise. M'really good at it."

Louis doesn't want to hear that, so he gets a hand full of Harry's hair and tugs hard, forcing him to shut up and keep his attention on Louis' neck instead. Harry doesn't seem to mind, just keeps pressing open-mouthed kisses there until they're both panting and desperate.

"Let's - c'mon, let's - " Louis can't really speak, but when the lift opens with a _ding_ , he has enough wits about him to drag Harry down the hall and into his room. It's sheer luck that there's no one else on the floor, because they're joined at the hand and still panting, and anyone who saw them would immediately know what they're about to do.

Inside, it's Harry who takes charge for once, gripping Louis by the waist and walking him backward to the bed while simultaneously leaning down to kiss him. When Louis feels the back of his knees hit the bed, Harry stops and starts tugging up Louis' shirt, wrenching away from his lips with a gasp as he flings it across the room.

"Jesus," Louis says.

Harry just grunts and gently pushes Louis onto the bed. Louis arranges himself so that his head is surrounded by soft pillows, which is lucky, because when Harry starts to crawl down his body, unbuttoning Louis' pants and taking them with him, his head falls to the bed helplessly. Harry's keeping eye contact, too, big green eyes glittery and innocent, like a fucking _minx_.

Once Louis' jeans are off, Harry wastes no time, curling his fingers into the elastic of Louis' Topman pants and shucking them down.

Then he freezes.

"God," he croaks out in surprise. "You're so big."

That makes Louis prop himself up on his elbows with a glare. "Well why d'you sound so surprised about it?"

Harry laughs. He's so close to Louis' dick that he can feel hot air blowing on the shaft, which makes him twitch. But he stays stubbornly in position, because his dignity is being impugned.

"You just," Harry begins. "You have really small hands. And feet. So I thought...you know."

"This whole time, you thought I had a small cock?" Louis asks in disbelief.

"I mean, I didn't think it'd be _small_ ," Harry insists. "I figured it'd be cute, like. Small-to-average sized."

Louis makes an indignant noise and is just about to protest when Harry pounces.

Harry uses his hands to hold Louis' hips firmly to the bed, and the second his pillowy lips wrap around the tip of Louis' cock, Louis lets out a shaky cry and his hips jerk up involuntarily. This would likely choke any normal person, but Harry is not a normal person, and it only encourages him to start taking Louis' cock farther and farther down his throat.

Harry sucks cock like a champ. He sucks cock like it's an Olympic event and he's trying to bring home the gold to reunite his war-torn country. It shouldn't surprise Louis as much as it does, because Harry's got a mouth made for it and he's a bloody perfectionist, so _of course_ he'd be excellent at this. But it does, and Louis has to bite down on his fist to muffle his whimpers, and he can't even _look_ down at Harry's curly head working up and down his cock without coming up for air.

Harry's got a lot of tricks up his sleeve - he tongues at the vein on the underside of Louis' cock, and suckles at the tip, and even uses his fucking _teeth_ excellently, just barely grazing the shaft with them - but without a doubt his greatest skill comes in the form of deep-throating. Not three minutes in, he suddenly decides that it's time to shift this blow-job from _phenomenal_ to _mind-blowing_ , and he pulls off for a deep breath before taking Louis' entire length down his throat. Louis had thought he'd been deep-throated before, but nothing in his past has come close to the feeling of hitting the back of Harry's throat and feeling the content hum he lets out against his shaft.

" _Fuck_ ," Louis cries, and tugs at Harry's head, unable to get the words out. "I'm - _fuck_ \- "

His warning falls on deaf ears, and then he's coming down Harry's throat, hips spasming for ages before he's milked of it all. Harry swallows - of course he does - and rests his head against Louis' thigh while he catches his breath.

Louis, for his part, is staring at the ceiling and contemplating his entire existence.

"Lou, can I - " Harry's suddenly picking his head up and coming up the bed. He's still fully dressed, and Louis can see the bulge of his cock against his skin-tight jeans, and it's got to be painful. He wants to take them off for Harry, but he can't feel his arms or his legs or his eyeballs.

At this point, Harry could be saying, _Lou, can I murder you and everyone you've ever loved?_ and Louis would probably nod frantically and let him. As it is, Louis starts chanting _yes yes yes yes yes_ , because Harry's stripping off his shirt and his pants, and that's ace. Louis watches with drowsy eyes as Harry gets his stiff cock out, and he makes grabby hands for it, because he's orgasm-dumb and embarrassing and gone for this boy.

"Can I - " Harry says again. "Fuck, Lou, can I just - please - "

Louis has no idea what Harry's planning to do, but he's shifting down the bed again, running his hand down Louis' stomach and hips and thighs. Harry stops there, and when he meets Louis' eyes, he's pleading for something and Louis is willing to give him pretty much anything, so he just nods some more.

"I always - " Harry takes a deep breath. Gulps. "I always, like, wanted to do this."

That alone is enough to make Louis' dick, which he had briefly thought might never recover, give a feeble twitch. When Harry lines up his crotch with Louis' thigh and starts practically _riding_ it, though, Louis' dick experiences a total rebirth.

"Oh my god," he breathes. "Oh my god."

Harry's got one hand on Louis' shoulder and one hand on his chest, and he's still wearing his briefs, but his hips are keeping up a steady rhythm, his cock rubbing Louis' right thigh relentlessly. It's just enough pressure on his cock to have Harry moaning. For a moment, Louis thinks he must be the gayest person alive, because he's never been as turned on as this, seeing Harry work himself up and down his thigh, feeling his hard dick, watching as grits his teeth at the friction and all of the muscles in his neck pop out.

It's not long before Harry comes; he'd already been pretty hard just from blowing Louis. When he does, he does so with a harsh grunt followed by a soft whimper, and collapses onto Louis' chest.

"I used to dream about riding your thighs," Harry breathes into Louis' chest, right into the "It Is What It Is" tattoo.

Louis groans. "You're trying to kill me," he accuses.

Harry laughs brightly. "I'm after your money," he says.

It's typical post-sex banter and it makes Louis feel warm inside. This thing with Harry hasn't felt real since it started; it's been surreal and frustrating and enlightening, but never _real_. For the first time, it feels like a tangible thing - an actual, adult relationship with someone he loves. He watches as Harry stumbles into the bathroom, presumably to change out of his come-stained pants, and grins into the pillow like a crazed person.

+

The rest of the European tour is probably the best time of Louis' life thus far, if he's being honest. He and Harry are back in action, and it's like the Up All Night tour times a hundred - they're pranking everyone in the crew constantly and running late for everything and so caught up in each other that they can't see straight. Louis hadn't noticed, but everyone is lighter when Harry and Louis are getting along; it's like they lift the mood of the entire tour.

Like before, everyone notices, but no one says anything. Louis can feel Lou giving him a shrewd look as she blow-dries his hair, and Paul just looks at them like a slightly-less-disapproving father. Niall's the only one who seems to actually have any clue as to what's going on; Zayn and Liam keep giving them strange, questioning looks which they both choose to ignore.

So they talk about it, like two normal people who are in a functioning relationship. Harry wants to wait until the beginning of the North American tour to tell them, and Louis agrees, because they've still got enough to figure out without the input of three nosey friends and over fifty crew members.

Since it's a secret, they can't exactly do coupley things, and as much as Louis would like to take Harry on a proper fancy date, he can't really complain when they get to order room service every night and talk for hours.

They talk about Louis' time with Eleanor and how he really had loved her, but that he's starting to realise that their relationship had been based more on comfort than love. Things with Eleanor had been easy; he hadn't had over-think anything when he was with her. With Harry, it's different in exhilarating way. He feels like he could drown with the love he feels for Harry, with the overwhelming urge to protect him and comfort him, but it's not scary anymore.

They talk about when Harry had discovered he was gay and about his time in California, and the boys he'd hooked up with in London and Los Angeles. Harry's sheepish about it, and Louis is almost blind with jealousy, but he tries to hide it, because he knows that's not fair.

"Did you ever - I mean, did you ever think of me when you were with them?" Louis asks one night, quiet and tentative into the darkness of an Italian hotel room.

"A bit, at first," Harry says honestly. "It was hard not to. But then I just, like, decided not to think about anything at all."

"Hm," Louis hums. He tucks his face into the juncture between Harry's neck and shoulder - a spot that's quickly becoming his favorite - and braces himself for his next question. "Do you keep in touch with any of them?"

Harry doesn't reply for long enough that Louis feels obligated to say, "Not that I'd, like. Ask you to stop, if you're still friends with some of them. I just - thought I'd ask."

"Most of them were just random guys at clubs who didn't recognise me," Harry says. "I don't have half their numbers."

"Oh," Louis says. "Okay."

"But I - " Harry stops, takes a deep breath. "In London. I mean. You know that I hooked up with Grimmy, don't you?"

Louis stiffens and burrows deeper into his special juncture, closing his eyes against this new information. He can't say it shocks him exactly, but it's not easy to hear all the same. "No, I didn't know that."

"Just casual stuff," Harry clarifies. "We've always been just friends. But he was the first, yeah. He helped me kind of - figure myself out? I was going through kind of a tough time, and he helped."

"Did he take advantage of your innocence?" Louis says in what he hopes is a mock-outraged voice. He thinks it shakes a little.

"It wasn't like that," Harry says firmly. "I asked for his help and he agreed. He's my friend. And I need you to be okay with that, because it's not going to change."

Louis takes a deep breath and nods. Harry can't see, but he must be able to feel it with the way Louis' cuddled up against him.

"Okay," Louis says finally. "But you're _my_ boyfriend now, and I don't fancy sharing. So."

Harry's hand stutters a little where it had been stroking Louis' hair, and when Louis looks up, he sees Harry beaming.

"Boyfriend," he repeats. "Yeah, cool. That's great, pal. Good talk."

+

The first time Louis goes down on Harry, Harry has a panic attack.

Louis knows that Harry's nervous about it; despite their countless talks on the subject, Harry is still relatively insecure where his dick and Louis interacting are concerned. Louis has assured him countless times that he's not going to have a "big gay freak-out" no matter how often Harry whips his cock out, but. He can't entirely blame Harry for being nervous about it, what with the twenty-two solid years Louis spent adamantly denying liking cock in the first place.

They talk about it a lot. Harry gives Louis a lot of head; it would be fair to say Louis is receiving head at a rate that could kill a lesser man. And Harry seems to really _like_ it, which is frankly the icing on the cake of a great blowjob, as far as Louis is concerned. But any time Louis tries to reciprocate the favor, Harry just shakes his head and pulls him back up, using his hand or Louis' to get off. It's fucking hot, the way Harry will grunt out a quick orgasm against Louis' thigh or stomach and then sheepishly clean it up, but lately Louis is feeling a little cheated.

It's just that he knows he's interested in dick now, and it's opened a lot of previous unexplored doors in his head. He likes the look and feel of Harry's dick in particular, and now he'd like to get a taste. One of his favorite things to do with girls was going down on them - and though he knows it'll be a whole different ballgame down there, he's itching to try it. The idea of making Harry come apart on his mouth is a hard one to stop thinking about, once he's started. He wonders if Harry would squeeze his legs together the way most girls he'd been with had, or if he'd spread his legs out gracelessly and yank on Louis' hair.

"Do you not like to be blown or something?" Louis asks him one day. They're in Spain and there's nothing to do except, perhaps, exchange blowies with one's hot boyfriend.

Harry raises his eyebrows. He's been flipping through channels on the hotel telly, but this seems to get his attention. "Um," he says. "I quite like getting blown, actually. Is this a trap?"

"It's starting to seem like you're afraid I'm going to bite your dick off," Louis tells him a bit testily.

"I don't think you'd bite my dick off," Harry immediately assures him.

"Then what gives? I've been trying to blow you for weeks," Louis says. He wishes past-him could time travel to this moment, catch him begging to get his mouth on his boyfriend's dick. Maybe that would have taught him to make better decisions.

"It's like - " Harry pauses, sighs. "Not everybody likes doing that, you know? And I don't want you to do something you're not ready for."

"So this is you being a martyr," Louis supplies. "A dick martyr."

"I'm not overly fond of the title, but yes, I suppose," Harry says. He's clearly trying to fight a grin, looking back to the telly while the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Harry Styles: Dick Martyr," Louis goes on.

Harry is determinedly looking away from him, so Louis throws himself onto the bed dramatically, burying his face in Harry's stomach and shaking his head back and forth. The muscles there jump under his face - Harry's quite ticklish - and Harry's hands immediately go to his hair. Instead of pulling Louis off, he just starts petting his hair, massaging his scalp a bit, and it feels really, really brilliant.

"Blowing you isn't exactly a hardship for me," Harry says after a while. "It's maybe my second favourite activity."

Louis turns his head so he's facing Harry, tilted up to look at him cheekily. "What's the first, then?" he demands.

"Blowing Niall," Harry returns with a serene smile.

Louis shrieks indignantly and crawls so that he's got Harry pinned beneath him, locking their hands together on the mattress. Harry's eyes go a little darker - they've been together for just under a month and Louis is fully aware of how much Harry likes to be held down - but he doesn't stop smirking.

"Niall would be a terrible blowjob receiver," Louis tells him seriously. "He'd forget to warn you when he's about to come, and then he'd be all, 'Wey hey! Best blowjob ever! Sorry 'bout that!'"

Louis' impression of Niall is spot on, and Harry can't repress a cackle underneath him. It makes Louis feel about ten feet tall.

It makes him feel confident enough to bend over so that he's right next to Harry's ear and whisper, "I'm going to blow you tonight, okay?"

+

Louis definitely didn't write the book on blowjob etiquette, but he's sure there's got to be something in there about paying proper attention to one's partner to gauge what they enjoy.

And he does plan on doing that, it's just - there's a dick in front of him, quite close to his face, and Louis has never actually seen another dick this close-up before. He's never even seen his _own_ dick this close-up before.

Harry had seemed good, had snogged Louis for a long while and told him, "If you want to stop, just pull off. I'll be fine."

So when he takes the first lick of the tip, and darts his tongue out to trace the vein along the underside, he doesn't notice that Harry's breath is coming out shallow and rough. And when he spreads his lips out and starts mouthing along the sides, causing Harry to jerk and yank at his hair, he thinks, _I must be doing a great job_. Except then, just as he's really establishing his rhythm, Harry pulls his hair so hard Louis' completely dislodged from his dick, and he looks up, ready to tell Harry off.

But Harry's turned over suddenly, his face buried in his pillow, and he's shaking all over. At first Louis just figures he's panicking a bit, and his brain-to-mouth censor isn't up to par, so he says, "Shit, was it that bad?"

Harry doesn't reply, sans a tiny squeak, before Louis realizes he's not just panicking a bit but having an actual, full-on panic attack. He hasn't seen Harry in the throes of a full-blown panic attack since the fucking X-Factor days; he didn't think he even got them anymore.

Luckily for both of them, it was Louis who would always calm Harry down at the X-Factor live shows, so he at least has some idea of what Harry needs him to do. Thinking fast, he pulls up Harry's pants before crawling up the bed and lying down next to the younger boy, who is near-hyperventilating into the pillow now, tears streaming down his face.

"Fuck," Harry gasps out. "Fuck, I'm - oh god - "

"Shhh, it's okay," Louis says. He doesn't want to crowd Harry, knows he feels like the world's closing in on him during these attacks, but still he reaches up a hand to cup Harry's jaw, hoping to ground him a bit. "You're okay, you're good, just concentrate on your breathing, Hazza."

Harry does, or at least he tries to. For a couple of minutes, all he can do is take these big, shuddery, teary breaths while Louis whispers useless reassurance in his ear. Louis wants to go and find Harry's inhaler, but he doesn't want to get up from the bed, and Harry's breathing is starting to gradually even out.

"You're alright," Louis says, rubbing tight circles into Harry's back. "It's alright."

He sort of loses track of time while he's trying desperately to comfort Harry, but it must be about ten full minutes later that Harry's calmed down enough to actually speak. Harry shuffles around so that he's on his side facing Louis, his face flushed and ashamed.

"Fuck," he says. "I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be dumb," Louis says, flicking him in the shoulder.

"I haven't had a panic attack in ages," Harry says.

"My blow-jobs are notoriously panic attack-inducing," Louis says. "This is, like, the sixth time this has happened to me. It's embarrassing, is what it is."

Harry rolls his eyes and pinches Louis' side. Louis feels calmer now that Harry's no longer in the midst of an attack, but he still feels frantic and desperate in his need to comfort the boy. His boy.

"I guess it's just - " Harry begins. He seems to think he has to explain, though Louis would never have made him. "That's kind of been my ongoing wank fantasy since I was sixteen? So when it was actually happening, I just freaked out."

"That's so boring," Louis says, but he knows he's grinning his full on crinkly smile. "Couldn't you have wanked to David Beckham like a normal lad?"

"I've wanked to David Beckham, too, don't worry."

Louis lives to joke around, but there's nothing funny about the fact that Harry is so anxious about this all that Louis touching him can send him into a panic attack. He doesn't know how to fix it, though - time, maybe - so he just wraps his arms around Harry and tugs him to his chest. Harry's an excellent little spoon for someone his size - he can curl in on himself like a cat.

"I don't want to do anything that you're not ready for," Louis says softly.

Harry exhales deeply and starts playing with Louis' fingers where they're hooked over his belly button. "Okay."

"So just. Let me know when you think you're ready and we can try again. But don't feel pressured."

"Alright."

"And next time, I'll blow you away, alright?"

Harry pauses. "God, you're terrible," he says. He sounds sleepy, probably because Louis has begun playing with his curls, which always puts him right to sleep. "Not sure why I love you."

+

In the past, arriving back in the UK for a brief tour hiatus had meant Louis alternating his time between Doncaster and Manchester, trying to squeeze as much time with his family and with Eleanor as possible. He'd loved that time; it was relaxed and low-key, the perfect come-down after months on the road where it seemed like a camera was never more than two metres away.

He's got no need to go to Manchester now, and the idea of visiting his mum and sisters is daunting. He knows he's going to have to suck it up and go at some point, but he still spends the first four days of the break curled up on Harry's couch, ordering takeout and renting films, while Harry meets up with his friends all over London. They hadn't even discussed what would happen during their break, but the second they stepped off the plane in London, it was clear to both of them that they didn't want to be separated, so Louis had picked up a few things from his house and showed up at Harry's later that night.

Harry was hesitant about going out at all, but his phone was blowing up with so many invitations that Louis had eventually sighed dramatically and told him to go.

"Leave me," he'd said with a loud sigh. "I'll be here waiting like a good trophy boyfriend."

At the time, it had seemed like the good, healthy thing to do. Harry was the type of person that thrived in huge groups of people, that loved being the center of attention and at the same time just a part of the crowd. Louis knew he'd never be the type of boyfriend who could sit around and watch films for a week straight, and that was okay.

It was okay, except now Louis is _bored_ and _lonely_ , and he can't even call anyone to come over, because then he'd have to explain what he's doing at Harry's house.

When Harry comes back past midnight on their third night home, Louis is already lounging in his bed wearing nothing but his briefs and glasses. He's idly reading a magazine and texting Fizzy, so he doesn't notice the front door opening and Harry ascending the staircase. He doesn't notice him at all until Harry's crossed the bedroom and jumped on the bed, so that he's half on top of Louis' and fully knocking the breath out of him.

"Hello," Harry says softly, leaning down to peck Louis on the nose. "You look very cute."

"Handsome," Louis corrects automatically. He puts aside the magazine and his phone and takes Harry in - his snapback and green tank top, because it's an especially hot summer in London - and grins. "How was the party, then?"

Harry had gone to a party hosted by Nick Grimshaw and his new boyfriend near Primrose Hill. Though he's not proud about it, Louis had been obsessively checking Instagram for pictures from the party; all he found were a few blurry shots of people popping open a champagne bottle and a bloody _dog_.

"Was alright," Harry says into Louis' armpit. "There were these really fruity drinks and Aimee and I had a contest to see who could drink more. She won. I almost threw up."

Louis pulls back in surprise. "Are you drunk?"

Harry doesn't seem drunk; he's lacking the usual flush and bright eyes and loose tongue. "Not drunk," Harry says. "Tired. Happy. I like coming home to you."

 _So let's do it every day for the rest of our lives,_ Louis thinks, but instead of saying it out loud he just curls around Harry and holds him close.

+

When Louis does get around to Doncaster, it's the end of July and his mother is pissed.

"What kept you in London?" she demands as soon as he walks in the door of their new, three-story home. It's odd, coming home to a place that he's never lived, to a stepdad he hardly knows and siblings he never gets to spend time with.

"Just work stuff," he says evasively. "Hello to you too, Mum."

"I worry about you," his mum says. She gathers him up in a tight hug, patting his hair and inhaling deeply. "You're my baby. And you're too thin. The girls went out to the mall, and I've just made a batch of biscuits, so you can be the first to try them."

Louis settles in at the kitchen table, a sleepy Doris on his knee. His mum has just woken the twins from their naps, and they're miraculously not cranky.

"So what have you been up to?" his mum asks. "Are you alright? Are you happy? Are you seeing somebody?"

Louis, who has had a lifetime's worth of experience in dodging questions he doesn't want to answer, evades all of her questions successfully and turns the conversation to his mum's life instead. She talks for ages, about how the newborn twins wake her up every morning at 4 a.m. without fail, about how Lottie is driving her up the wall as they look into colleges, about how Phoebe is being considered for advanced placement courses at her primary school. It's odd, how out-of-touch Louis is with his family, despite the fact that he calls them several times a week. He feels like he's missing out on watching his sisters grow up, and he worries that they're going to be more familiar with "Louis Tomlinson" than with their big brother.

"They miss you," his mum says after a while. "But you're doing the best you can. They live for your text messages."

"Next summer," Louis promises, "When I'm off tour, I'll invite Lottie and Fizzy to stay with me in London for a few weeks. Maybe they can tour some colleges. Even look into Uni."

"Don't _talk_ about that," his mother insists. "I already have one baby in London, that's quite enough for me."

"You have six children in the house," Louis points out. "No need to hoard them all."

They talk for a while longer, until the girls burst into the house loudly, having seen Louis' car in the driveway. They're carrying loads of shopping bags, which they abandon in the foyer in favour of attacking Louis with a suffocating group-hug.

"Why didn't you tell us you were coming, you prat," Lottie demands. "We wouldn't have gone out!"

"The surprise makes it sweeter," Louis says. "Besides, I like it better when you're not here."

They all shriek in indignation and start firing stories at Louis like they've got five minutes to fill him in on every event that's happened in last five months of their lives. He can't keep up, so he just nods and hums and says "oh, yes, of course" a few times. He's an expert at this by now.

"Let him breathe," his mother says after a while, pulling Phoebe and Daisy away from where they were sitting on both of his knees. "Go get ready for supper, it'll be ready in an hour. Louis will be here for two more days, you'll all have time to bombard him with questions later."

+

Staying with his family is nice. Now that the initial shock of having a famous brother has worn off, Lottie and Fizzy don't insist on having friends over while he's there, and the twins don't seem to care either way. Ernest and Doris's shrieks seem to stem from baby-ness rather than from being starstruck, and his popstar status seems to have no effect on Ernest when he pisses all over Louis when he attempts to get him into his onesie pajamas.

 _A baby just pissed on me,_ he sends Harry after he's taken a shower and is situated in the guest bedroom.

 _I love it when you talk dirty,_ Harry replies right away. He's staying with his own family for the week, tucked away in Cheshire with Anne and Robin.

 _So then what are you wearing_ , Louis sends back cheekily.

_LOU!!! I'm playing Scrabble with my mum._

_Great! So what are you wearing?_

_> :( a very unsexy pair of sweats and your red sweater_

_Aww you MISS me_

_Don't get ahead of yourself_

Louis uses his fist to stifle his giggle, and they continue to flirt via text for the rest of the night. On the last night of the tour, Harry had told Louis that he was going to tell his family that they're officially together (he'd already told them about what happened in Paris, because he's shit at keeping a secret from Anne and Gemma) and Louis had agreed to do the same. It's not the same, though, because Harry's family already knew that he was gay - Louis is going to have to drop two bombshells on his mother at once, and he doubts it's going to be pretty.

He doesn't doubt that his mother will support him, but he doesn't have any idea what her reaction will be like. He doesn't know if she ever suspected something was going on between he and Harry in the old days; if she had, she never mentioned it, and that makes this about a thousand more difficult.

When he finally does tell her, it doesn't go at all how he'd planned. It's the second night he's there, and it's past midnight, all of the girls already tucked in bed. After dinner, he'd asked if they could talk one-on-one, and she'd looked concerned but immediately agreed. Now, his mum's sitting with a huge blanket on the couch, two cups of tea on the coffee table, and when she opens her arms, beckoning for him to join her, Louis takes one look at her and immediately bursts into tears.

"Boo," she murmurs, enveloping him in a warm hug, adjusting the blanket so that they're both under it. Louis wraps his arms around her middle and tucks his head underneath her chin, like he's seven-years-old again, desperate for his mother's reassurance.

She lets him cry himself out, remaining quiet while she strokes his hair. When his cries eventually quiet into little hiccups, she cups his chin and forces him to look her in the eyes. "It's okay, boobear. Whatever it is, it's okay."

And then Louis knows, knows without a doubt that _she_ knows, that she's probably known this entire time. He fights against a fresh wave of tears and moves his head so he doesn't have to look at her.

"Mum," he says, ashamed when the word comes out shaky.

She just nods and tucks him further under her chin, a solid, warm presence that makes him feel less like the walls are closing in on him. "It's okay," she repeats into his hair.

"I'm so scared," he says.

"Well, love is scary," his mum agrees.

"I don't want to lose him," Louis says. "But we're - how do we even - what's supposed to happen now? I feel like I'm meant to do something, but I have no idea what, and I feel like I'm going crazy all the time."

His mother is silent for a while, probably processing the fact that he's just confirmed something she's suspected for four years. When she does answer, her voice is steady and reassuring.

"There's not a handbook for this kind of thing, Louis," she says. "All you can do is love him and fight for him."

And that, Louis figures, is something he knows how to do.

+

Louis fucks Harry the day before they leave for North America, in his bed while summer rain pours outside the window. Despite the air conditioning, it's hot in the bedroom, and they take their time stripping each other of their clothes, kissing each other everywhere and practically worshipping each other's bodies. Harry hands Louis lube and a condom silently, and Louis looks at him for a long time, trying to make sure this is alright.

It's completely different than it had been with girls - Harry is tighter and drier and so much more _responsive_ , his entire body undulating every time Louis adds a finger to his hole. But mostly it's different because it's _Harry_ , Harry who is moaning and Harry whose sides he's running his hands down, and Harry who he loves so much he feels like he's tainting the air around him with it.

Louis has Harry on his hands and knees, because he'd said that was the easiest position, but Louis insisted that they do it in front of the mirror next to his bed, then, because he wants to watch Harry's face.

"Love you," he says as he lines up with Harry's entrance, trying not to gasp or cry or embarrass himself in any way.

"Love you," he repeats when he's bottomed out, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his tongue to keep from coming right there.

"Love you so much," he gasps, as Harry reaches backwards to lace their fingers together and encourage him on.

It's quick - Louis' not a sex god, and it's _Harry_ , and they still have so much to learn about each other's bodies and their preferences - but they come together, Harry with a long, drawn-out whimper, and Louis with a pained moan.

After, Louis wipes Harry down with a warm wash cloth, and they fall into bed next to each other, and Harry's crying and Louis' crying and it's all a little bit too much, but when Harry curls himself around Louis' back and totally engulfs him, Louis thinks that's what this is about: The perfect balance between too much and never enough.

+

They don't have to tell the boys when they get on the private jet to America, because Zayn takes one glance at Harry and Louis' interlocked hands and says, "You're fucking, aren't you?"

Liam, who had been climbing the stairs to board the plane, walks right into Niall, who walks into Zayn, who is stopped in front of the plush leather seats Harry and Louis are occupying. Harry glances determinedly out the window, and Louis squeezes his hand reassuringly.

"We're not fucking," Louis says simply. "We're dating."

"Holy shit," Liam breathes with a shocked laugh, while Niall grins and bends down to give both Harry and Louis a smothering hug.

Zayn is beaming, too, his bright smile that makes his eyes crinkle.

"This blows, lads," Niall says when they're all buckled in and the plane is lining up on the runway.

"Why's that?" Louis asks defensively.

"The bet for when you two'd get together ended _ages_ ago," Niall says. "We had five hundred pounds on the line, but the latest bet was for summer 2013."

"So we're a bit slow on the uptake," Louis says. This all might have bothered him a couple of months ago, but now he's content to take whatever teasing they throw his way, as long as he can hold Harry's hand. "We figured it out in the end, didn't we?"

The plane starts to pick up speed, and when Louis looks over, Harry's just smiling out the window.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: loupinoe


End file.
